This image was taken from the cockpit in the skies over Spangdahlem during my ride in an F-102 in early 1969. I used a Pentax Spotmatic 35mm camera. (Don Dale photo)
I had next to no experience shooting film before my F-102 ride. Chuck Minx, our film expert, gave me a crash course with the station's 16mm camera. His major piece of advice -- and it was good advice -- was to hold the camera still and not to try any fancy panning or zooming.
I had no experience in an F-102 either, but the Air Force took care of that. I had to go to Wiesbaden Air Base near Frankfurt to be checked out in a pressure chamber. I had to have a thorough physical. I had to learn about the workings of the flight suit. The pilots and instructors who walked me through the process seemed to think it was all such a lark. They did warn me, though, that my pilot would probably do what he could to make me throw up and that I'd have to buy the ground crew a case of beer if I did. They'd be the ones who'd clean up after me.
I wish I could remember the name of the officer who took me up in his F-102. I didn't meet him until the morning of the flight, and the only other time I saw him was for a few minutes before the live broadcast a week later. I do remember being told he was a real pilot's pilot and that one of his regular duties was training other pilots.
On the appointed morning, I suited up with the pilots, walked through the pre-flight process with them, and we were ready. When we actually got into the cockpit, I remember thinking that it was much more cramped than I had imagined and that I'd have to be careful not to bang the camera into anything.
When clearance for takeoff came, the power of the F-102's engine shocked me. We took off down the runway in a blur. The pilot pulled back on the stick and suddenly we were headed straight up. The g-force pinned me to my seat. Clearly, this was going to be an e-ticket ride.
Once we were aloft, the pilot pointed to other members of the squadron who had taken off with us. I began to shoot film. The sky was clear blue with puffy white clouds -- perfect for pictures.
Then the pilot asked me if I'd like to try a few aerobatics. I was doing great, so I said yes. We did barrel rolls, loops, climbs and dives. I alternated between shooting 16mm film for the broadcast and 35mm still shots with my Pentax Spotmatic. I was getting some great pictures. I was also having the time of my life.
"I'm going to lose some elevation and fly right over the base so you can get some shots," the pilot told me. "Good idea," I said. He told me that at our speed I'd have only a few seconds over the base for filming. "Warn me," I asked. I looked through the camera's lens as we approached the base and started filming when the pilot gave me a heads-up.
The sprawling base abruptly rolled by beneath us. I could see the flight line, the athletic field, the PX and the AFTV studio. It was a perfect shot. My view of Spangdahlem through the lens was faultless -- straight down, as though the base were some sort of miniature tabletop display. I was exhilarated by the flight and by the prospect of some exciting pictures.
Then I stopped to wind the camera and promptly threw up. I had just enough notice -- barely -- to grab the barf bag from my flight-suit pocket. I was totally disoriented.
What I hadn't realized as I was shooting was that the pilot had gradually rolled us almost upside down so I'd have the best angle. When our flyover ended and I stopped looking through the lens, my brain couldn't reconcile what I was seeing with what my inner ear was telling it.
Almost immediately I felt fine, but I kept the barf bag in my left hand just in case. I did appreciate it when the pilot switched the cockpit AC to max cold air. For a short time it was so frigid that I could swear I saw snowflakes coming out of the air vents.
I steeled myself and asked the pilot if he could make another pass over the base so I could shoot it again, just to give us some editing alternatives. He did. But this time I knew what was coming and had no problem.
When the flight ended, I thanked the pilot for the ride and gave him some money to buy beer for the ground crew.
We had five days to go before the Crested Cap episode aired on "Catch 22". I wrote and recorded the voiceover to accompany the film -- omitting any mention of being airsick -- and Chuck Minx edited together a slick film package. The station's staff all wanted to know what the ride had been like. I told them it had been the thrill of a lifetime. I asked Les Jackson if he would refrain from mentioning anything on the broadcast about me being airsick.
The show turned out to be memorable. Les hosted. Chuck ran audio. I directed. It began with our "exclusive" film piece and segued into a lively interview with Spang's commander, brass from the visiting F-102 squadron and the pilot who had taken me up.
As the show was ending -- with no mention of my throwing up -- we rolled film of the second base flyover. Les had time for one more question for my pilot, and he actually smirked when he asked it: "What's that in the lower left corner of that last shot?"
"That's the top of Sgt. Dale's barf bag," my pilot said. "He threw up the first time we tried that move."
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